


The One Where John Gets Drunk and Wants a Tattoo

by liveindenver



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, M/M, Masturbation, Tattoos, tattoolock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveindenver/pseuds/liveindenver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a tattoo artist.  John gets drunk one night and wants Sherlock to give him a tattoo: that says "Sherlock"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where John Gets Drunk and Wants a Tattoo

Fifth night in a row that Sherlock has seen someone from his short time at uni.  It’s understandable that he remembers some of them.  Granted, most were instantly deleted, but some were so stupid he had to keep them in mind, in the off chance he stumbled upon them again.  What he doesn’t understand is how some of them even remember him.  He was barely around for a whole term before he decided that he was leaving.  He took the first job he could find, here at Speedy’s Tattoos.  He was required to have some previous training before he started piercings, but he convinced the manager he had been doing it for years within fifteen minutes of walking in the door. 

He’s now been here for 3 years, and honestly, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. 

 

__________

 

 

“Watson, get your ass out here now,” Mike yelled, banging on the shower door, “We’re heading out in two minutes, and we’re not afraid to leave you!”

“Shove off, Mike, I’m almost done,” John laughed, quickly drying himself off and throwing on his clothes from before the match.

Celebratory night outs had become the norm since Captain John Watson took over the team the previous year.  John was as reluctant to go now, as he was the first time.  Still, it seems nearly mandatory that he go, get pissed drunk with his team, then recover slowly the next morning.  

Grabbing his bag, John slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door behind Mike. 

“Where to tonight, Mike?”

“Ah, well, actually before we head out to the pub, I was wondering if we could stop by Speedy’s.  I think I’ve finally decided on what to get,” Mike said in a decisive tone.

John merely scoffed in a lighthearted way and pat Mike on the back before saying, “Sure, mate.  I bet you have.”  This would be the seventh time Mike had decided on his tattoo.  He was terrified of needles, which was rather ironic since John and Mike were both off to med school in just a few months.  His indecision on tattoo designed seemed to work fairly well as a cover for his fear of needles, though.

 

________

 

 

“Sherlock, got another one for you!”

Stubbing out his cigarette into the potted plant out back, and walking back inside, Sherlock put on his best, charming, and most fake smile, and walked up to the girl, definitely first year at uni, trying to prove herself independent from her mother.  

“Hi, I’m Olivia.  Is there some kind of book that I can look thr—“

“Don’t bother.  If you really want to piss of your mum just get a star along your ribs.  It’s plain enough that you won’t have to explain it to anyone, and yet any tattoo you get will upset her.”

 

 

_________

 

 

“Mike, is this really necessary at this point? I mean, honestly, I think by now it’s more likely that I will end up getting tattooed, and you know how much I hate them.”

“I won’t be long, John.  I just want to set up a meeting and then we’ll head out to the pub,” came Mike’s reply as they rounded the corner to Speedy’s.

John realized that Mike’s steps started to taper off, so, grabbing his arm, he nearly hauled him past the shop, intending to walk Mike straight away and to the pub, knowing Mike still wasn’t planning on going through with this.  Until he saw the head of dark curly hair, high cheekbones, and eyes an impossible color to name- what were they? Gray?  Blue?  Green? standing near the front, talking to what appeared to be a customer.

“Uh, Mike, yea, I think you really need to do this.  C’mon, let’s get inside.”  John blurted out, and all but pushed Mike through the door.

 

 

__________

 

 

“Yes, look at me.  Obviously I know what I’m doing.  It’s simple, just a row of stars going down your rib cage.

“Can they be in rainbow?,” Olivia asked.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock replied, “I mean, if that’s the choice you want to make, I can do it.  Do I want to?  No.”

“You know, for someone trying to attract a customer, you’re kind of rude.”

 

“No, he’s rather brilliant.”

Sherlock snapped his head around to see who said that.  He saw Mike Stamford, who was one of the few people he hadn’t forgotten about, standing there with a rather short, but rather fit, blond man, who was staring directly at Sherlock, apparently unaware that he had caught everyone’s attention.

 

“Um, uh, as I was saying, I can do it.  Be here tomorrow at 10am.”  Sherlock told Olivia, his face never turning away from Mike’s friend.

 

 

__________

 

“Hey, John, get over here!” yelled Mike over to John. 

John took this as the perfect excuse to quickly walk away from what was becoming a very awkward situation.  Sherlock was still staring at John with a highly suspicious pinch of his eyebrows, and John was more than grateful for a reason to leave without making himself look even worse.

“This is my mate, John.  We’re about to head out, but I was thinking of coming back in to get some work done.”

“Perfect!  Then you’ll definitely want Sherlock.  He’s our best.  Trust me, men, you don’t want anyone else in town.”

“Sherlock?  Sherlock Holmes works here?” Mike asked with a laugh, spinning his head around, trying to catch sight of him.

“Sherlock!,” Mike called out as he spotted him.

Face turning red, John turned his back on Sherlock, and whispered to Mike, “you know that bloke?”

“Sherlock Holmes, I can’t believe it!  Haven’t seen you in, what, three years?” Mike said, walking toward Sherlock.

“Just come back tomorrow morning, and we can get it done.  Goodbye,” Sherlock dismissed his customer.  “Yes, Mike, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“This is my captain and mate John Watson.  John this is Sherlock.  He blew up the lab during an exam first year,” Mike laughed. 

Yes, that was me.  You’re getting some ink, Mike?  What are thinking of?”

“Ah, well, I was just considering.  I think I’ll probably try to come back in tomorrow with some more ideas.  None right now, if I’m being honest with you.  Besides, John and I were just heading out to the pub.  Wanna come with?”

“No.  I’m working late this evening.  Wouldn’t want to interrupt the celebration either, would I, Captain?” Sherlock asked, turning toward John, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Sherlock yet.  

“Uh, I, uh.  No, you wouldn’t— I meanm=, it wouldn’t be interrupting.  You can come.”  John stuttered out.  

“Well, after that articulate moment, I guess we better be heading out.  I’ll be back soon to talk ink, Sherlock,” Mike called out, turning toward the exit.  “John, you coming?”

 

John quickly snapped his head back toward Mike, and followed him out the door. 

“So, Sherlock, yea?  He’s, well, how well do you know him?  Think you could introduce me?” John asked.

“Well, John, I realize you may have missed it, what with your staring and all, but I did actually introduce you just now,” Mike laughed, leading the way to the pub.

 

_________

 

 

Far too many drinks later, John is entirely too drunk.  Rather close to being shitfaced drunk.  Most of the team has spread off, a few heading home and John and Mike decide to head back to the flat, time to call it a night.  John spent the last of his cash buying another round of shots for everyone, so him and Mike were making it back home on foot. Stumbling down the street, a bright light above his head caught John’s attention.  A neon sign for Speedy’s Tattoos was glaring in his face, and he thought again of Sherlock.  Without any indication to Mike, John made his way to the door.

“Oi, Watson!  What’re ya doing’, mate?” was the last thing John heard as he ran through the door.  It was quiet inside, no customers in sight, and definitely no Sherlock.  Which was utterly disappointing to John.  

John closed his eyes tight, and tried to fight off the dizziness inside his head, and yes, maybe he did have one too many drinks.  

A bell chimed overhead, and John could hear a deep, familiar voice from the back calling out, “Just a minute.”

He stood there, hanging onto a nearby counter, trying not to vomit as Sherlock strode in from the back.  

“You’re even more gorgeous than I bloody remembered,” John said aloud, mouth speaking before he could fully process what he was saying. 

“Perhaps, or you’re just rather more drunk than you were earlier,” came Sherlock’s reply.  

“I mean, yea, it could very well be that.  See, I was thinking.  I want to get a tattoo.  I don’t have any, and I want one.”

“Oh, yea?  And what tattoo are you wanting, exactly?” Sherlock asked, leaning onto the counter in front of John.  

“Sherlock,” John slurred.

“Yes?  You remembered it, thanks.  Now, what tattoo are you thinking of getting?” Sherlock said, trying keep from rolling his eyes.

“No,” John started, closing his eyes again, “that’s it.  That’s what I want.  I want ’Sherlock’ tattooed right here,” John turned around and lowered the waistband of his jeans.

“You can’t get tattooed drunk.  Come back in the morning if you still want my name on your ass and we’ll talk,” Sherlock walked toward the door, where Mike had been lightly dozing against.  

“Mike,” Sherlock nudges his shoulder, “Mike, you and John should go home.  You’re both utterly wasted.”

“No, Mike, you go on home.  I’m getting a tattoo.  I’ll be home in a bit.” John yelled out, a little too loudly.

“Alright, mate, just be careful, yea?” Mike made his way out the door, and stumbled down the street.

“You do realize you’ve just sent Mike home.  You’re rather drunk.”

“Oh, buggering fuck.  It’s alright, and I’m really not that drunk.  I’m not too drunk to get a tattoo,” John slurred again.

“You want to get my name on your ass, and you don’t even know me.” 

“I’d like to know you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Come home with me then.  I’m leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Yea, alright.” John said, because he knew that whatever this was leading to, he was ready for it. 

 

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock woke John up from where he had fallen asleep curled up in a chair.  

“Come on,” Sherlock said, grabbing onto John’s elbow.  “Let’s get a cab.”

 

___________

 

 

A short cab ride, and another short nap on John’s behalf, later, they pull to Baker Street.  Sherlock helps John out the cab, and props him up the wall, before making his way back to pay the cabbie.  He walks back up and unlocks the door, leading John up a flight of stairs.  Sherlock removes his coat, and hangs it on the door before he turns to find John already stripped down to his vest and pants.  

“My bedroom is just through the door on the left.  You can sleep in there.  I don’t plan on resting tonight.” Sherlock says, eyes wide at John’s nearly naked form.

“What?  Aren’t we going to,” John gestures between them, “you know.”

“No, no we are not.  You’re drunk.” Sherlock scoffed back. 

“I, well, yea, I am, but isn’t that why you invited me here?” John asked, looking genuinely confused.

“No, it’s not.  Bathroom’s on the right.” Sherlock said, turning away in clear dismissal.

John went straight to the bedroom and fell asleep before even pulling the covers back.

 

 

___________

 

 

John woke the next morning, and before opening his eyes, knew he wasn’t at home.  The sheets on whatever bed he was laying in felt far nicer than anything he had.  He groaned as he opened his eyes, and felt a pounding headache already there.  He rolled over and saw a table next to the bed with a tall glass of water and two paracetamol. 

“Oh, fuck” he groaned out as soon as he realized he probably made a complete and utter arse of himself last night in front of Sherlock.  He looked around quickly, gauging whether he would be able to shimmy out of a window instead of facing Sherlock, but found it to be useless.  He took the medicine, drank the glass of water, then made his way out the door to the bathroom.  He took a piss, and did his best to clean his teeth and straighten out his hair.  

He walked out, prepared to explain himself to Sherlock, but saw his sleeping form laid out the couch.  He tiptoes around, in search of a piece of paper.  Finding one stuck in the wall with a  carving knife, he wrote out a quick note. _Thanks for letting me crash last night.  Sorry for whatever I said or did when I was drunk.  Maybe I’ll see you around, John._   He was getting ready to stab the paper back into the wall, when he heard a rustling, and a deep moan, that sounded like someone stretching.  

“Planning to just run out on me, then?” John heard, and closed his eyes.  He was hoping he would have been able to get out of this part.  

“I didn’t want to wake you.  I was just leaving a note to thank you. Well, I guess I’ll be going,” John said, shuffling from one foot to the other. 

“You don’t have anywhere to be this morning, do you?  You could stay.  I may have some bread around here somewhere,” Sherlock pushed himself off the couch and made his way past John, into the kitchen.  

“Yea, sure.  I uhh, yea, I guess that sounds good.” He pauses, considers whether he actually wants to know the answer, and then asks, “I didn’t, uh, do or say anything too terrible last night did I?”

Without turning from the refrigerator, Sherlock says, “No, definitely not.  Unless you count wanting to get my name tattooed on your ass.  You know, or propositioning me for sex while you were drunk out of your mind.”

“I, what?  No!  Please tell me I didn’t.”  John flushed red, and counted himself lucky that Sherlock hadn’t been looking at him while he said it.  

“Yes, you did.  I was actually rather flatter by it.”  Sherlock turned around, and John noticed just how low down his pajama pants were hanging on his hips.  

“Well, why didn’t anything happen, then?” John asked, eyes finally moving up to meet Sherlock’s.

“You were drunk.”

“And that’s why?  That’s why nothing happened?” John asked, taking a few steps forward to stand in front of Sherlock.  “Is this alright?  God, please tell me this is alright.”  John begged out, as his hands gripped Sherlock’s arse through his pajama pants.

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, and he could only nod, before he felt John’s mouth crash into his.  As John kissed him, he started grabbing and spreading Sherlock’s arse cheeks, which caused small moans to escape from those plump lips.

John pulls back from Sherlock’s lips, and takes in a deep breath, and moves back to Sherlock, kissing his way down the long, pale expanse of throat there.  “You know, my cock would look so good down this throat,” John groans.  

Sherlock whimpers, and sinks down to his knees.  “Yes, John, please,” he breathes out as he nuzzles his forehead into John’s clothed erection.  His hands make their way to John’s belt, and begin unfastening it and the button, along with the zip.  He lets out a small gasp as he sees the entire length of John’s cock.  

“Yea, beautiful.  Think you can suck it down?” John’s eyes are half lidded, staring down at Sherlock.  

Sherlock lowers his head, and kisses along the inside of John’s thigh.

With a moan, Sherlock leans forward and uses the tip of his tongue to lick at the slit of John’s cock, moaning at the feel of the hard, silky skin.  He sucks the tip of John’s cock into his mouth, and bobs a few time, until he can feel John’s hips pushing forward.  He relaxes his mouth, opens his throat, and pushes his head forward until his nose bumps into John’s coarse, curly hair.  John shouts he he feels the tip of his cock pushing against the back of Sherlock’s throat.  Sherlock works John deep his throat, eyes closed tight, savoring the taste.

“Oh, god, Sherlock, I’m already so close,” John moans out as Sherlock swallows around John’s cock.  “Fuck.  Fuck, gorgeous.  I’m about to come.” 

Sherlock pulls off John, and looks up into his eyes.

“Sherlock, I’m gonna—“

“I know.  Do it,” Sherlock says, hands moving onto John’s dick, flushed an angry red at the tip.

“Oh my god,” John cries out, as Sherlock’s hands speed over him.  “You—“

“Come on, John, do it.” Sherlock growls out, tongue flicking a few times over the angry red flesh.  “Please, John.  I want you to come on my face.”

“Fuck!,” John shouts, as he comes hard, all over Sherlock’s face.  Streaks over his cheekbones, his lips, and through his hair. 

Sherlock swipes a hand over his face, slicking his hand with John’s come, and quickly thrusts it into his own pajama bottoms and grabs his own cock, pumping rapidly, needing friction.  After only a few strokes, Sherlock is coming, eyes rolling back in his head, moaning out John’s name. 

“Wow.” John breathed out.  “That was amazing,” he said, holding a hand out, to help Sherlock up.

“Yea,” Sherlock said, still slightly dazed.  “Although, I’m sure it didn’t do much to help your hangover.”

John grunted in reply.  “Let me make you some toast.  It’s the least I could do.” John said, pressing a kiss onto Sherlock’s cheek.

 

 

____________

 

 

Two months later, John gets to Speedy’s Tattoos a half hour before closing, so that he can walk with his boyfriend back to 221b.  Seeing that there weren’t any customers, John made his way up to Sherlock, and sat down on a table.  He unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them down as Sherlock stared.  

“John, you do realize that we aren’t technically closed, yet.  Someone could walk in any minute.”

“Now, wait a minute.  The night we met, you told me that I could come back the next morning, and if I still wanted your name tattooed, that we could talk about it.  I was rather busy the next morning getting the best blow job of my life, but here I am now.  I want your name tattooed on me.”

“John.  You can’t be serious.  My name is not going on your ass.”

“I agree, but the very first place you touched me was right here,” John pointed to his inner thigh.  “You kissed me here, and I swear, I can still feel it tingle sometimes,” John says, as he presses a kisses to Sherlock’s curls.  “You kissed me here first and I want to remember that forever.”

Blushing bright red, Sherlock turns around, gets his gloves on, and says, “Anything you want, John.”

 


End file.
